Draco discharged his witch after a day, he wanted to be sure her wand hand was able to function just fine before he released her officially, running her through a few menial spells and tasks before allowing her to go. The wizard was still chastising himself for allowing this to have happened to her in the first place, the woman who gave him a second life, extended her compassionate hand to him and plucked him from the brink of insanity. A new plan started forming in his head, he would not allow this to happen again. Draco would train his Dea. She didn't want anything to do with him, and that was fine, but the compromise would be he gets to train her.
A few weeks into June, he was able to get the stubborn woman to agree to meet him at a Café somewhere in muggle London. The sound of a bell caught Draco's attention, drawing his eyes to the door of the establishment he was in, his breath catching as he did so. She was absolutely glowing when she stepped inside, her aura was back to her normal rose gold hue, heightening her features as she cheerily greeted the shopkeeper, purposefully visiting the counter before coming to their table so that he couldn't pay for the usual chai she got everywhere. Draco continued scrawling onto a report, patiently waiting for her to walk over to him. Eventually, she did make her way over, carefully setting her cup down before removing her bag from over her shoulder. His greys began to drift up to her, but they stopped over her stomach, making his lips thin so as not to smile.
"What?" Hermione asked, her brows knitting together. His own brows rose as he stood, offering his hand out to help her sit. The witch wore a black jumpsuit that displayed her baby bump rather well, a pair of teal and white Converses and a matching headband to top it off. Her body was always so small, it was adorable seeing her dressed up while pregnant.
"Nothing, you just look lovely, is all," he noted aloud, taking his seat once more.
"Oh, please, I look like a whale," Hermione scoffed, rolling her hazels and waving her hand.
"Not at all, Dea," Draco promised, a small smile forming on his lips as he observed her. He leaned forward on an elbow, his head titling. "Have you decided on a name for him yet?"
"Yes, Hugo," she mused, a grin taking her face. Her hands went to her stomach as she sat back. "Mum and daddy are going entirely overboard with it all. You'd think this was my first kid."
"You can't fool me, witch, you love it," Draco chuckled out, a giddy feeling flitting through his heart. "Your mum and dad seem like great people."
"They are," the witch agreed, nodding her head, her pulled back curls bouncing around her shoulders. He watched as her lips pulled to the side, silently observing him. "So, what did you want to see me about that you couldn't just text?"
"Well, I want to still get the memory of your attack, for starters," he informed her, continuing on when she huffed through her nose and averted her eyes, "I told you, witch, the incident doesn't seem normal. And I will not stand by while the person who dared even touch you runs free. This is the second time now."
"Neither time is your fault for happening," Hermione muttered, her fingers carefully spinning her cup about. "It's not like you could have done anything at the Manor—at least not without being tortured yourself, or dying."
"It would have been worth you not having to go through that pain," Draco insisted, catching her hazels once they snapped to his eyes. The brunette shook her head.
"Then who would have inconvenienced me by barging into my home and binding themselves to me?" The witch demanded with pursed lips and raised brows. "I would still be attacked and you would have been gone, across the veil."
"Yes, Dea, I know. That brings me to the other thing I wanted to meet about. Once you have little Hugo and move out of the healing stage, I would like to begin training you."
"Training me?" She repeated, a brow quirking as her paper cup went to her lips, stealing his greys' attention.
"Yes, since you don't want me around to protect you," Draco sighed, "I will settle with being sure you know how to protect yourself when I'm not there. Please, Hermione, I never ask anything of you."
"Fine," Hermione grumbled out after a few minutes of silence. Her hand set her drink down and she suddenly pointed at him. "On my schedule, and only when I have a sitter."
"Don't worry about a sitter," he replied, nearly grinning, "you can bring Rosie and Hugo, Scorpius' governess can look over them while we train."
"Of course, you have a governess for your son," the witch chortled, her elbows leaning on the table as she leaned forward. "Honestly, I can't wait for my pregnancy to be over. My body is always hurting."
"Two more months, Dea," Draco reminded her, smiling at her glare. A sudden chime went off on his phone, he was being called in to the O.R. Her eyes drifted to his phone before tilting her head. "I'm being called in, do you want me to tell them to get one of the other healers?"
"No, no, go do your job, Malfoy," she insisted, waving her hand at him. Before the witch could begin to stand up, he was on his feet helping her to hers. He brought her hand to his lips before bidding her farewell and leaving to Disapparate to work. Hermione sighed as she grabbed up her coffee and bag, that man was a mystery.
August 30th finally came around, the day that little Hugo was born at the Aceso Medical Center. After her surgery there, it seemed Hermione had taken to making Aceso her preferred hospital after all. Draco figured that had to do with what his medical center stood for, something his witch was always advocating for—magical and non-magical folk unity. The brilliant witch probably figured it out, but he annually funded her Muggle-born Orientation program under an anonymous donation, a program that showed children just being introduced to their world what they'll be getting themselves into. He had a bouquet of wildflowers and a care package sent to her room under the guise of congratulations from Aceso. A text came to him later.
Dea: thank you, Draco
She sent a photo of them, despite how worn out she looked while kissing baby Hugo— radiant as always, he thought to himself.
Me: You're welcome, Hermione. He is beautiful. But of course, he comes from you.
Dea: don't tease me, prat
Me: Never, Dea. Get plenty of rest.
Me: And NO working!
A couple months went by before she was up for any kind of physical activity. He collected her memory, finally, and sent it to be examined by Zabini. Draco sent a car to drive her over, she very well couldn't be Apparating or using the floo with two children. He stepped out of his house, lightly jogging to the old Lincoln and assuring the driver he would get her door. The wizard greeted the witch with a small smile and carefully lifted Hugo's carrier out of the vehicle as he helped her stand out of the seat.
"Oh, no you don't, little girl," Hermione sang out as she snagged Rose up who was trying to adventure away. Draco chuckled and nodded towards the house, which was more of a French countryside home with grey brick.
"Come on in, Dea," he offered as he ushered her forward, his hand resting on the small of her back. "Madam Danielle, this is Hermione, and her littles Rosie and Hugo."
"Good morning, ma'am," Madam Danielle greeted, a slight bow of her head meeting the young witch.
"Good morning," Hermione huffed out as she struggled to hold onto her squirming tot.
"Me down, me down," Rosie squealed, making the young mother tsk.
"How about you take Rosie up to the playroom with Scorpius, Madame?" Draco suggested, hiding his smile behind his fist as he turned his head.
"Of course, sir," the older witch agreed, holding her arms out for the little girl. "Let's go find some toys, Rosie."
"Thank you," the young witch sighed, resting her hands on her hips. "She's such a little squirrel."
"Well, come on mummy squirrel," the wizard laughed out as he handed Hugo's carrier to the governess, "let's get to training."
"Right," she replied as she followed him through a corridor and down a flight of stairs into a training room with weights, mats, a training dummy, and punching bag, the room she would find herself in the mornings for the next few months. Hermione didn't even know the wizard knew hand-to-hand. He has practiced it for fourteen years, since Lucius allowed him to travel with him to Shangri-la to meet with associates in hiding. While there, a monk felt a disturbance in his life force and showed him Tàijíquán, which focused on manipulating qì, energy, and cultivating the mind and spirit. Later, the wizard revisited China to focus on a more external style of fighting, one that developed his ability and physical strength, called Shàolín Gōngfū.
It definitely developed his physical strength, the witch thought to herself as he was explaining to her why he knew physical combat. He had been readjusting the weights on the leg press for her when she caught a glimpse of what it was set on—485kg. He noticed her reading the numbers and snorted, telling her that the leg press was incredibly easy, an eleven year old could lift 200kg with no problems. A bench press is vastly different, Hermione found. Draco could lift 200kg, but he's been training for a long time.
As he expected, Hermione was a fast learner in everything she did, five months later and she was able to properly maneuver his strikes away from her and land a successful hit on him—she couldn't do it every time, no, but she wasn't going to be fighting people like him. The more the two talked during training, the more he realized, he should have done this some time ago. The attack before was, evidently not the first time. Draco suspected they had to do with the fact she's trying to change so much within their world. When the healer had first founded Aceso, and even still, he was greeted by quite a bit of hostility himself.
His mind kept going back to the shadow that was suppose to be tailing her—why was, not only one, but multiple attacks able to be had on his Dea in the first place? Did Zabini's sanction have members who were not fond of her? That was likely, considering the Italian's network was configured of questionable people. Draco rolled over from being tripped and guided to his back with her palm. His witch's chest was heaving, glistening with sweat with her hands on her hips as she sported a triumphant grin—a vision of power.
"Excellently done, Dea," he praised, his hand bringing up his shirt to wipe his face off. "I expected nothing else from you."
"I think you put too much stock in me, Malfoy," she breathed out, waving her hand with an eye roll as her other hand released her curls in a cascade, only to wind them back up and re-pin them.
"Not at all. You are so much more powerful than you give yourself credit for, witch." The blond sat up, his elbow resting on his bent knee as he stared up at her. "Why do you think these people keep messing with you? They're afraid of you, afraid Athena has risen in human form."
"Now you're just picking at me, Draco Malfoy," Hermione pouted, her arms crossing over her chest as she peered back down at him.
"I promise, I'm not, Dea," he assured her, his voice coming out far softer than he meant. He wished he could make her see herself how he did—beautiful, powerful, radiant, intelligent, and graceful and benevolent.
"I wish Ron understood that," she groaned out as she sunk to the mat with a thump, her knees were bent with her ankles crossed as she held on to the fronts with her hands . Draco tilted his head, curious what she meant. "He wants me to drop my Muggle and Magical-Folk Accordance campaign. He believes it is going to bring about too much negativity to me and put me in danger."
"He isn't wrong, Hermione," he muttered out, earning a disapproving look. The blond merely shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I think, I will continue to support you and help you succeed. You know you need only ask me to do something for you and it's done."
"I know," the witch sighed, pushing herself up from the mat. "I'd better get going. Ron has become less receptive to me training lately."
"Surely, he doesn't know I'm the one training you?" Draco pondered aloud. He couldn't help the cocky smirk that crawled onto his lips as he thought about the weasel cursing his name once he realized his wife was being trained by him. Hermione tilted her head with her hands on her hips again, casting him an unimpressed look. He merely shrugged up at her. "You know the weasel and I don't like one another other, witch—much less so when he tries to deter you from the goals you've worked so hard for."
"You two are ridiculous. I know, I know he's just worried, but I don't like being treated like a housewife, expected to be home cleaning and just look after the kids all the time—I have a career. He's already talking about another baby—absolutely not, two is just fine, thank you," the brunette ranted, throwing her hands up at her sides and shaking her head.
Draco let his Dea vent, silently listening to her complaints, discerning if they were anything he could help with. One that he landed on was hiring a governess for her, but he doubted she would accept. Another was having a staff meeting at Aceso about publicly backing her campaign. He already donated the funds to the campaign, and to multiple programs of hers. Perhaps, he would request his mother talk to her about holding a gala.
"Have a good day at work, Hermione," Draco said as they buckled the kids in. "See you later, kiddos."
"See you later, Draco," the witch replied before closing her door. He's always thought Weasley wasn't meant for her. She is far too ambitious and intelligent for him. Draco felt if she stayed with the wizard, he would end up distracting her from her goals. That was the thing with the Weasley brood, they wanted large amounts of family, which he suppose there was nothing wrong with that, but it didn't seem to be what Hermione wanted—it was clear they wanted different things in life.
"Love you, monster," Draco said, scooping Scorpius up and showering him with kisses before Apparating outside the house he stood at eleven years ago. He knocked on the red decorated door and not even ten seconds after, Mrs. Granger was opening it.
"Oh, Mr. Malfoy," the woman bubbled out, a pleasant smile crossing her lips.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Granger," he responded with a nod.
"To what do I owe this pleasure?" She questioned, gesturing for him to come inside, leading him to the kitchen.
"Well, I just finished training with your daughter today," he stated nonchalantly.
"Oh, how is she doing?" She questioned.
"She is doing phenomenal, of course," Draco bragged, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "She was doing a bit of—venting today, about the kids. I know Molly Weasley has an entire horde of grandchildren and so that makes Hermione feel terrible for taking the children over to be watched while she and the wease—Weasley are at work. Do you think she would listen to you if you suggested a governess?"
"Oh, you know Hermione would scoff at the very idea of paying someone to care for her children," the woman told him with a pull of her lips to the side. He heard her muttering to herself—something about 'first ferrets and now weasels.' Draco figured the troll must have been talking about the time he was transfigured into a ferret and he came up with the lame excuse for a name 'the amazing bouncing ferret.' It had lacked all creativity, but he is a bit of a simpleton.
"I know, which is why I was going to pay for it, but I know she'll have my head if I bring that up to her outright." The wizard sighed leaning against the counter, Mr. Granger coming down just as he did.
"Oh! Healer Malfoy, what a pleasant surprise!" The man exclaimed, the smile suddenly faltering. "I think, why is it you're here? Is Hermione okay?"
"Hermione is fine, William," the man's wife shushed him with an eye roll. He was apparently a very doting father. "Draco is here to try to entangle me in a rather precarious scheme. This is the one to talk to for that, Mr. Malfoy. Hermione can't say no to her father, she feels guilty when she does, which is why they are both so spoiled."
"I see, thank you, Mrs. Granger," he chuckled out and watched as the woman retreated from the kitchen, gliding just as his mother would.
"What scheme is this that must obviously involve my princess," William questioned curiously. Draco explained what he wanted to do again and the man was slightly confused. "I see what you mean, but I'm not really sure why it is you want to do that, does the hospital normally extend that kind of offer?"
"Oh, erm, that's right," Draco mumbled, his hand going to the back of his neck. "Your wife is the one that knows of our arrangement."
"What arrangement?" William quirked a brow.
"I am Hermione's associate—as of late, more specifically her benefactor and personal trainer," he explained. "She is typically suppose to get ahold of me when she needs something, but she doesn't really do that."
"And what is it you get in return for supporting my daughter from the sidelines?" The man demanded with narrowed eyes, obvious suspicion on display. That was completely understandable.
"Absolutely nothing, sir," Draco quickly announced, holding his hand up to stop any wrong ideas. "I owe everything to your daughter, Mr. Granger, if she would allow me, she would want for nothing. If helping her with Rosie and Hugo will make things easier for her, then I want to do just that."
"Hm, very well," the man agreed after a few minutes of regarding the wizard before him. "Send me names and CVs and I'll bring it up to her when they come for dinner tonight."
"Thank you, sir," he returned, a near grin quickly being schooled off his lips. "I'll get them to you right away. Oh, and would it be possible to not mention me?"
"I suppose," William chuckled.
"Thank you, again, Mr. Granger," Draco said, holding his hand out to him.
"Ah, just call me William," her father responded, taking his hand. "It's nice that someone else is on the same page as me concerning my princess. She deserves the world."
"Too true, William," the blond agreed before leaving the Granger home and Apparating to a governess agency. He spent a couple hours going over different files, finally deciding on three different applicants that he knew would peak his witch's interest. They were younger witches, muggle-born, and very well read. The best thing about them—they were trained in hand-to-hand. Draco sent off their CVs to William through owl, adding his number before Disapparating to the hospital.